


A Jarring Resolution

by Laineyvb131



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: F/M, Humor, Prompt Fic, sex and humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22619182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laineyvb131/pseuds/Laineyvb131
Summary: The challenge: write a drabble based on the prompt: "so fucking tight for me". This is like a Choose Your Own McCord Adventure book; there's the non-smutty version, in chapter 1, as required by the challenge. Then chapter 2 is the smutty extension of the prompt.
Relationships: Elizabeth McCord/Henry McCord
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The challenge: write a drabble based on the prompt. No smut. No word count requirement. But for the record, no one prohibited innuendo.

March 2001, northern Virginia

Henry slogged into the house, visibly drained after a long week on campus. His teaching load was overwhelming this semester, but he'd managed to wrap up his immediate responsibilities a few hours early. Elizabeth had taken the day off, desperate for some rest after the stomach flu rampaged through the McCord family. Henry had begun to unload his briefcase on his office desk, when he heard noises from the kitchen. He assumed Elizabeth started dinner early, so abandoned his books and papers, determined to rescue their Friday night meal from her cooking skills.

What the hell? Henry stopped short at his wife moaning like she did when he was inside her. Panting. Whimpering. Get it together, man. Their intimacy vanished since they'd either both been sick or nursing the girls. A brief kiss, in passing, and not much of those, either. Too long, if he let himself think about it. Which he hadn't, for that reason. Everything was starting to remind him of sex, or the lack thereof. Henry scrubbed his face with his hands restlessly, as if to wipe his thoughts clean. I've gotta get my mind out of the gutter.

But there, again, he heard those sounds. Definitely Elizabeth. Not cooking.

Surely she wasn't… was she? At three o'clock in the afternoon? In their kitchen?

Henry swallowed, hard, throat suddenly parched. He pushed through the fog in his brain and forced his feet to charge through the doorway.

Elizabeth crouched on the floor in front of the refrigerator, back to the center island, arms and legs contorted nearly in a ball in front of her, between her legs. She was fully dressed, so he thought, but moving erratically.

"Always so fucking tight for me," Elizabeth hissed, fiercely.

"Elizabeth!" Her name burst from his lips more sharply than he intended.

She glanced up at Henry, frustration evident on her face. "Why is this jar always so damn tight? I swear you screw it back this way on purpose." Tossing blonde waves off her face, Elizabeth thrust the jar of pickles she held at her husband, accusingly. She rocked sideways with the abrupt movement, and balanced one hand on the floor to steady herself.

"After 10 years of marriage, I've learned not to get between you and food," Henry retorted. He automatically reached to take the container from her, setting it on the countertop, then held out both arms to his wife. "Babe, get up," he admonished. "You're in no condition to be sitting on the floor." Henry indicated her rounded belly, visible now in a more relaxed position. Elizabeth pulled on his hands, struggling rather awkwardly to her feet.

"I was trying to get some leverage," she fumed. "I can't get the jar to open, and I want some fucking pickles, damnit."

Henry quirked an eyebrow at his wife's language. "And we wonder why Stevie has developed a rather unusual vocabulary," he mused, rhetorically. "That's going to be so fun explaining to her teacher when she lets fly at school."

"Sorry." Elizabeth huffed out a breath, attempting- and failing royally at- a sheepish grin. "Apparently this one is hungry." She shrugged while patting her baby bump. "I swear this baby is a boy, Henry. I've turned into every pregnancy cliche imaginable this time around."

Henry wisely stifled his laughter. He could check every box off the 'normal' pregnancy symptom list with each of their children, and even add some fairly strange side effects. At seven months pregnant, she'd already given up trying to tie her shoes or shave her legs. The latter task Henry gladly accepted after Elizabeth declared doing so was his responsibility since he convinced her to try for a third baby. Shaving mostly ended up in sex, but they were both quite fond of those particular hormone-driven inclinations. All of their babies gave their mother rather odd food cravings, although apparently this one preferred salty over sweet.

Henry shook himself from his musings to find his wife glaring at him, fingers tapping impatiently over the child to blame for her current predicament. "Well?" She challenged, pointedly, shoving the jar across the marble slab with her other hand.

Henry deliberately held Elizabeth's gaze as he easily turned the lid, his eyes dancing with mischief. The pop echoed through the room, as if to taunt her.

"Nice job, Professor." Elizabeth rolled her eyes, although secretly ogling her husband's muscled forearms. "You don't have to impress me anymore, you know? I think we're past that point, now." She rubbed her stomach again in emphasis.

"Do you want pickles or not?" He pulled the jar away from her, teasingly.

"Not funny." Elizabeth barred her teeth at her husband. "Gimme," she nearly growled. She snatched the glass from him, fishing through the sloshing green liquid for her prize.

"Mmmm, now that's good," she mumbled, the pickle protruding from her mouth rather suggestively. Elizabeth chomped down, chewing with relish.

Henry's thoughts promptly flashed straight back to sex. Jesus, Elizabeth. He squirmed uncomfortably to loosen his suddenly very tight jeans.

"What?" Elizabeth noticed the shift in Henry's demeanor and eyed him quizzically. She swallowed, taking another bite immediately, then gestured with the pickle, her mouth too full to ask for an explanation.

"First you were in here making sex noises, and now you're eating that pickle rather," Henry searched for a word, "lewdly."

"Sex noises?" Elizabeth gasped, nearly spitting out her food in astonishment. "Huh?" Realization slowly dawned. "Oh." She smirked, her flare of amusement a drastic transformation from her fervent exasperation just moments prior.

"You're apparently feeling better if you're eating those nasty things, and we haven't had sex in a month," Henry reminded his wife, his mouth etched into a grimace.

"So you thought I was in here enjoying myself? Really?" Elizabeth burst into giggles, bracing one hand on the counter, the other on her shaking belly. Her gaze darted to Henry's groin. "And now you're…," she choked out, the rest of her sentence lost in her laughter.

Henry gestured to his now obvious erection. "You find this funny?" he asked, rather incredulously.

"Not in the least," she reassured him, after catching her breath. "Pregnancy cliches may not be a bad thing, after all, you know." Elizabeth appraised her husband ardently, ignoring the snack on which she'd just been fixated. "I could go for horny now that I'm not hungry." Her gaze raked Henry from head to toe, her appetite now focused on him.

"Stevie is next door playing, and Noodle is still napping." Elizabeth trailed off as Alison wandered into the room, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"Mama, can I have a snack?"

Elizabeth shrugged at Henry, a wry grin on her face. "Hold that thought." She turned to her daughter. "Want a pickle?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like a Choose Your Own McCord Adventure book; here's the smut extension of the prompt. {I may have not followed the rules, because this is not a new story, nor is it a drabble anymore, and the prompt is nowhere to be found in this chapter. Whoops. Sorry. But not really.} Same story, different ending. We pick up at the end of the last prompt submission.
> 
> *In full disclosure, this chapter is very much M rated. If that's not your thing, stop reading here.*

"So you thought I was in here enjoying myself? Really?" Elizabeth burst into giggles, bracing one hand on the counter, the other on her shaking belly. Her gaze darted to Henry's groin. "And now you're…," she choked out, the rest of her sentence lost in her laughter.

Henry gestured to his now obvious erection. "You find this funny?" he asked, rather incredulously.

"Not in the least," she reassured him, after catching her breath. "Pregnancy cliches may not be a bad thing, after all." Elizabeth appraised her husband ardently, ignoring the snack on which she'd just been fixated. "I could go for horny now that I'm not hungry." Her gaze raked Henry from head to toe, her appetite now focused on him.

"Stevie is next door playing, and Noodle is still napping." Elizabeth's expression morphed into something much more wicked, her eyes sparkling as she contemplated the possibilities created by an essentially empty house. "We probably have at least 30 minutes before she wakes up."

Passion flared in that brilliant blue as she slowly backed away from Henry, bare feet shuffling on the tile in concession to her shifting center of gravity. Elizabeth guided herself with one hand along the counter, until she bumped into the kitchen table.

"Wanna make me moan again? For real, this time?" she purred. Elizabeth tucked her thumbs into the waistband of her yoga pants, sliding the material past her hips until a flick of her wrists sent them shimmying to the floor along with her panties. She leaned back against the wood, hands flat, back arched, spreading her legs slightly. Her T-shirt barely covered the sloping mound of her belly, her swollen breasts straining against the material. Henry swore he could see her already wet for him, soft pink flesh glistening in the wiry patch of curls, and the desire he'd barely tamped down roared back to life.

Elizabeth's pregnant body intoxicated Henry: her lush, ripe curves, her glowing skin, and right now, that fuck me look in her eyes. He closed the distance between them in three strides, stopping with his abdomen against her belly, and slid his hands over her thighs. His fingers dug into smooth, supple skin before he could control himself. Henry leaned down and closed his teeth over her nipple, peaked against the cotton of her shirt, never taking his eyes off hers. His thumbs traced the grooves between her legs and groin until Elizabeth tilted her hips toward him, unable to control her response to his sensual touch.

Henry gripped her biceps and spun Elizabeth tenderly, mindful of the space between her body and the table, his careful actions belying his crushing need to take her. He pressed his erection in the dip of her lower back and cupped her heavy breasts in his hands. "No bra, huh?" he noticed. "You really were in here thinking about sex."

"My bras are getting too small again. My boobs just hurt." Henry gentled his touch, afraid he was causing her pain. "No, don't stop. That feels so good." Elizabeth leaned back into Henry's embrace. "I only wanted food until you came home. You're the one with sex on the brain."

"So this is my fault?" Henry murmured against her hair, his voice low and wanting.

"Definitely. I can never get enough of you." She tilted her head, intending to kiss her husband, but he began nibbling on the base of her neck.

Henry suckled at her pulse point, feeling her heartbeat under his lips, nipping lightly before whispering, "You know I won't kiss you with pickle breath. As much as I love you, those things are disgusting." His tongue traced the shell of her ear. "But I will fuck you."

Elizabeth's momentarily amusement at Henry's hatred of pickles died into a plea at his fervent declaration. "Here. Right here." Elizabeth moaned as his fingertips grazed her nipples, tracing circles around the sensitive skin.

Henry acquiesced willingly, but with a demand of his own. "Later, though, I want to see you. All of you. Naked. And I want to watch you touch yourself."

"Later." She echoed, desperation lacing her voice. "Fuck me. Now."

Elizabeth grabbed his wrist, pulling his arm under her belly and sliding their joined hands into her soft heat.

"Babe, you're so wet," he groaned, as their fingers slipped through her arousal. His erection throbbed unbearably against the constraints of rough denim, and he ground himself into her ass, searching for relief from the pressure.

"Four long weeks and pregnancy hormones," she conceded. "Doesn't take much."

Henry stepped back slightly, fumbling with his belt, the clink of the metal echoing in the stark, heated silence of the room.

"Hurry," she urged him, stroking her clit firmly, her hand still guiding his over her slick flesh.

Henry pulled his hand away from her sex, responding to her unspoken protest. "I need both hands if you want me to hurry." He quickly unzipped his jeans, just enough to free himself through the opening in his boxers.

Elizabeth leaned over slightly, braced on one hand, the other dipping inside her body, building her pleasure, fingers circling faster. "I'm going to be flying solo here if you don't," she warned him.

"Wait for me." Henry squatted, changing the angle of his position, sliding his erection through her folds, nearly growling at the sensation.

Elizabeth propped her elbows on the table, dropping her head onto her hands. Her back arched, giving him more room to maneuver. She gasped as Henry plunged deep, her frantic "yess" muffled by the wood underneath her.

"You okay?" Henry confirmed. Elizabeth nodded, her blonde hair a curtain around her face, spilling sunshine over her shoulders.

"More. Faster," Elizabeth demanded, her body straining for fulfillment. She pressed her clit again with two fingers, turning her head to gasp for air, her movements frenzied in her blinding quest for orgasm.

"I can't...Elizabeth…" Henry panted from exertion, his quads straining as he balanced in a crouch. He thrust erratically, striving for a rhythm to push them both over the edge. Just when panic flashed through the fog of passion, panic that he didn't have the stamina to finish her before he lost control, he heard Elizabeth cry out and shudder beneath him.

"Oh, god, Henry." Her muscles clenched around his cock, the pulsing rocketing him toward completion.

He nearly sighed with relief as he buried himself to the hilt and surrendered to his climax. His release drove Elizabeth higher, sending her crashing into another orgasm. She stiffened for a long moment, then whimpered as her body went slack.

Henry straightened, slowly, his groan now of a different flavor, and helped Elizabeth stand from the table. As she turned to him, he joked, "no offense, babe, but I'm glad that didn't take us long." Elizabeth's chuckle echoed his as she kissed his cheek, still mindful of the pickles. "I thought my knees might give out. I won't have to do squats at the gym for awhile, that's for sure," he declared.

Elizabeth's eyebrow shot up and she opened her mouth in retort when a noise drifted in from the hallway. They both frantically swiped at their clothing. "Help me," Elizabeth hissed when she tried unsuccessfully to bend over, nearly tumbling in her haste. Henry caught his wife with one arm, awkwardly tucking his penis back into his pants with his free hand. Only when certain she was stable, Henry sank to the floor, grabbing at Elizabeth's clothes. Using her husband's shoulders for support, Elizabeth carefully stepped through one leg of her yoga pants, then the other. Henry quickly drew the material up to her waist, tucking her panties into his pocket.

Once dressed, they both froze, anxiously listening for another sound from the direction of Alison's room. When met with silence, Elizabeth dropped her head to Henry's shoulder, inhaling a shuddering breath. He rested his cheek on her hair, breathing heavily. Henry gathered Elizabeth in his arms, the sweep of his palms soothing along the length of her back.

After another moment of quiet, Elizabeth gathered her scattered thoughts. "Maybe that was a false alarm?" She trailed off as Alison wandered into the room, knuckling her eyes sleepily.

"Mama, can I have a snack?"

Both parents looked at their daughter, then back at each other, bursting into laughter.

Elizabeth shrugged at Henry, a wry grin on her face. "That was close." She stepped out of Henry's embrace and turned toward the toddler. "Sure, baby. Want a pickle?"


End file.
